Words Of Poison
by bardvahalla
Summary: Grima reflects on his actions during the Seige of Isengard


**Words of Poison **

**Bardvahalla 2004**

_**Grima Wormtongue reflects on his desire for Eowyn as the Saurman's army marches to destroy Helm's Deep to slaughter all within.**_

Grima stared out from the balcony in stunned disbelief. The Army was beyond enormous. It could not be possible. Surely, it was a trick of the light, only a wizard's cruel illusion. Could Saruman truly mean to send this colossal hoard of ten thousand against a few hundred men?

A single, scalding tear spilled down Grima's cheek and hit cold stone below with an audible splash. The tear held a name within it.

Eowyn.

Grima cared not if Theoden and every other warrior of Rohan was crushed under Saruman's heel in open battle, but these hideous killers wouldn't spare a single soul if they breached Helm's Deep. Eowyn would not be spared. Nor would she attempt to save herself if it meant leaving even one of her people behind.

Grima stood at the top of Isenguard and stared out as the endless army marched over the broken forest towards Rohan. The horrible pounding of their feet matched the terrified pounding of his heart. That filth would breach the walls, slay the warriors, behead the king then they would overrun the caverns and slaughter the rest without hesitation. Eowyn, he knew, would be at the front of the women and children. She would be brave, selflessly bearing a sword, trying to protect her people and would be the first of the women to die.

His filthy fingers raked down the rough stone at the thought of the Urak-Hai slicing her slender body through. For a brief moment he considered taking his exhausted horse and trying for the fortress. If he could slip out past the wizard, the Mark would at least slay him quickly and end his misery after he warned them to flee. But Saruman, no doubt, would prevent him. Grima writhed in misery. Continued service with Saruman offered no promise of a quick and painless death.

Grima had been so very close to possessing her in the hour before Gandalf arrived. Her will had almost succumbed to his own. He'd been so near to breaking her spirit, so near he was prepared to dump Theoden's dead son's body onto the floor and take her on the pallet the moment her strength faltered, but Eowyn had somehow resisted his fierce will.

"Your words are poison," she'd spat and left Grima with a sneer.

He thought he had plenty of time, and so Grima had let her go. He'd power then. Eomer had been banished. The king had been his pawn. He, Grima, was Saruman's most favored weapon. It had only been a matter of time before he ruled the Mark and Eowyn would have been his reward.

He had spend months dreaming up ways he would amuse himself with Theoden's beautiful niece. He had practiced making knots in the dark; experimented with hot tallow on his own skin; stolen or hoarded jewels and filmy fabric to adorn his beloved- so strong yet so frail. So beautiful and cold. He desired her from the first moment. She immediately loathed him and his simpering ways. He had vowed that would change. Every chance he got he worked his magic on her.

This was the power of one's eyes and soft words to weaken men's minds. it was the same mesmerizing skill that provided a door into Theoden's mind for his master, Saruman. If only he'd had more time Eowyn would be at his feet even now. Her enslaved mind would be his to toy with and through a pliant will her body would be willing. True, it would not have been a honest desire on her part. Easy enough to overlook that. What of it if her beauty was slightly marred by the glazed expression on her face when she knelt before him, begged for his favor and called him Lord?

But that would never come to pass.

Grima remembered lying on the floor watching her struggle in Aragorn's arms, trying to run to Theoden. Even with the Dwarf's blade at his throat he couldn't help but envy Aragorn his arms about her waist.

When Gandalf had broken Saruman's hold on the Rohan King. Wormtongue had been humbled and humiliated before Eowyn, thrown down the Edoras' stairs before being allowed to flee back to his master.

Grima rode hard, cursing all their names, even hers, to the sky. Cursing them to pain, punishment and death, he made straight for Isenguard and up the Tower road without noticing what lay within the deep gorge on either side.

If he'd only seen Saruman's army before telling the White Wizard anything! He could have sent them to the Edoras instead of Helm's Deep! Now, however, his heart's desire had been condemned by his own hate-poisoned tongue.

"Fool! Fool!!" he cursed himself and clawed the stone. Fool for inadvertently condemning her to death. Fool for wanting her in the first place. Fool for skulking in the shadows and having to reserve his wit, magic and strength for Saruman's plots. If Grima had been able to concentrate on Eowyn alone, he would had broken her. Yes, he could have had her - his mindless and willing slave. So close...

Pain finally broke his stupor. Blood dripped from his shattered nails and stained Isenguard's tower with a deep warm red on cold gray rock. He sucked at his fingers as he wended the long way back down to a waiting Saruman. The wizard grew impatient with his dourness and solitary ways. "Orcs make better conversation, Grima." Saruman sneered. Wormtongue did not bother to answer. What did Saruman know of love?

Long days passed and finally a runner came to the White wizard with news. The thick walls of Helm's Deep had been breached! Grima retreated and lay on a lonely pallet in a cold, dark shadow. Soon another runner would come to tell of the total victory, of the pogrom, of their spoils. No more tears would come until he heard the last. He felt cold, numb, and half dead waiting for word of her.

Wormtongue briefly considered going to the Rohan fortress, of claiming her pale cold corpse and carrying it gently away on horseback to her city. He could bury her body with some dignity next to her cousin. No ...Saruman was too watchful of him, and so her pale, beautiful shell would be burned, left to rot, or worse, eaten by the Urak-Hai. Grima moaned in despair.

The only moment of distraction from his misery came when the Ents loosed the river upon Isenguard and by then it was too late to do anything but wait for the end. After the Ents attacked, Grima stood again at the top of the tower. Stinking, bloated gray corpses of Orcs, goblins and their disgusting progeny bobbed in the water below. Ents surrounded Isenguard, killing any stray orc or goblin that had survived. Now the only way out was the way down into foul water and death. Now, no runner could come. Any contact was prevented by the Ents. It might never come - the final word of the battle of Helm's Deep. No list of the dead.

Buffeted by cold winds, Grima lay on the stone and scratched out a dried drop of his own blood. "Let her live," he prayed, though prayer was not a thing he often indulged in.

Even if she had survived, what difference would it make to him now? Eowyn would never look at him with anything but hatred, fear and loathing. He could grovel and beg forgiveness but it would never come from her cold lips.

Still, he would wait. He must wait for word of her death. He had to hear it from the foul lips of Saruman's captain. He had to hear the words spoken aloud before he could allow himself to believe it.

The low booming calls of the Ents rumbled right through his shivering flesh. The tower shook with their rage as they stomped on stray orcs. Grima had, as a child, stomped on bugs in a similar fashion with far less reason.

Below, Saruman's insane screams of despair reached his ears. Who else did he have left except this wretched, witless wizard to cling to? Wormtongue, once a servant, knew now he was Saruman's slave. Even if he just walked away from this place, who would have him? Where could he go? All the land would know of the betrayal of Grima Wormtongue. No quick, noble death for Grima, he thought miserably. He must cleave to Saruman. It would be his just and torturous punishment for Eowyn's death. She had been quite right about his words, he reflected.

Poisonous, indeed.


End file.
